She was trying to help, trying to be the better person, but no. No, this inconsiderate, pigheaded ignoramus had to turn around and harass her. Legit mate verbal harassment! The sort you would be able to report to HR! Now, if only she were able to actually find out how to report things to HR on this floating graveyard, maybe she could finally get some kind of well-deserved leverage over this fiery weasel. Of course, all her self-righteous anger was directed internally, as her body was far too shocked by the indignation of the whole situation. She merely stood, mouth flopping open and closed like some sort of pathetic fish, words absolutely lost for her.

Grasping at straws. Looking for a solution. Come now, Sable, you always know what to do, no matter what the situation may be.

"Excuse me?" she whispered back, her hand immediately flying to her head. Now that she considered it, she felt the inkling of a headache coming on, possibly suggesting some sort of cranial trauma. Yes, that was plausible. And the brutish Blair was shooting spiteful words at someone not only more qualified, not only trying to help, but possibly injured. The monster.

"Can you not see I have sustained a head injury? And yet here you are, babbling on about properly doing your job," Sable continued, her volume escalating and tone chilling with every word. "If you are concerned about your competence, that is entirely your own issue, and none of my accord. I suggest you find your line and step into it. Now, as I said, nothing down here-"

She pressed a nearby door's keypad. It opened up to reveal a room full of military-style bunks, sheets neatly folded down halfway. Sable stared. So that was where the bedrooms were.

"-is of any importance, save for the sleeping quarters," she finished, flawlessly retconning. She stepped into the room, glancing over her shoulder with a final sharp glare.

"And that is Dr. Aronowitz, to you."

Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

"Well, Dr. Aronowitz. I'll let you tend to your own 'head injury', seeing as you're the God-damn DOCTOR of this ship. Maybe get the stick out of your ass while you're at it."

Bitch.

Blair, as calmly as she could, left the area without saying anything further to the doctor; she needed some time away from any living person in general, not just the witch-like partner she had aboard this ship. What a great start to rapport-- insulting one another and then arguing. Can't wait until I'm stuck in the airlock and she lets me fuckin' die.

The engineer stalked down the ship's hallways in search of a common room; when she inevitably found it, seeing as she was wandering the halls for quite a bit, Blair would sit down at one of the tables and put her small luggage bag onto it. Inside was her shortwave radio, a pet project of hers that she'd decided to bring on-assignment as to distract from the periods of boredom; or, in this case, help her forget her bitch of a roommate without the use of heavy alcohol consumption. Bringing out a small set of tools, the ex-pilot set to work on the back panel, tuning wires into place and securing the electronics board to the base of the radio. In the process, she'd accidentally turned on the frequency knob of the device, resulting in the output of static. She ignored it for the moment, opting to concentrate on finishing the work on the panel before turning it off.

"I am not-" Sable began, but the jackal was already fleeing. Fine. This was alright, manageable, and she found herself under no obligation to get in the last word. She was much more mature than that grease-stained lackey could ever hope to be. Fighting down a hot mix of ire and bile, she rummaged through her pockets in pursuit of a small, white bottle. At last she found it, holding the label up to the light.

Alprazolam. 2 mg.

She needed to use it sparingly if she wanted it to last the entire voyage. The med bay had some Percocet, but that didn't give her the same sense of calm, and even that was understocked for daily use. Still... she needed it now. Just one pill, to calm her nerves. She could put off with the tension for an extra day, save up some more, but she didn't want to deal with this horrendous first impression without a little extra help. In a rehearsed motion, she downed the tab dry, then fell back into her bed, feeling the frantic pulse of her heart slowly fall into a gentler pace.

Maybe I should apologize.

No, that was a stupid idea. It wasn't like she'd done anything wrong. She'd merely attempted to assist the newcomer, asserting her place as the obvious first command (whatever the damned briefing papers said), and was met with unchecked hostility from a vitriolic hound. Whatever. There was no changing the course of the day, and no way to get rid of Blair. Maybe if she got her into a position to show her true colors acquired proof... and sent the report to Tyche directly.

Sable sat up, mind roiling. It could certainly work if she did it right. Communication with Tyche was limited, but the papers had mentioned a console line to use only in the event of emergencies -- and Blair was certainly an emergency waiting to happen. The diminutive doctor rose from her bed, walking with purpose back down the hall. As she approached the common room, she noticed a low hum, like static from an untuned television. She entered just in time to hear the noise turn into voices.

"What are you doing?" Sable said from the doorway, eyes narrowed. "Did you find a way to communicate with someone?"

Maybe the jackal had worked out the emergency line, and was using it to turn Sable's own plan against her. The doctor's fingers tightened on the metal frame.

Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

The aviatrix furrowed her brow. There was German, no doubts about that— but it was mixed with words of English, sporadic and incomplete which only served to heighten the unsettling mood the radio’s activation had introduced. Blair stared at the metal box, utterly perplexed as to what to actually do before Sable poked her head in through the doorway. Disregarding the argument the two had just had, the pilot motioned for Dr. Aronowitz to step closer to the table.

“Take a look at this.”

Blair looked at the radio’s backside, raising it and causing a screw to fall out from within the machine. She caught it with a free hand, setting the metal nub next to her tools and scoffing in disbelief.

“No, I— it’s a shortwave radio. I didn’t expect it to catch anything— I don’t even have it plugged in, the fuck...” She muttered in reply, trailing off at the end as her concentration turned from the doctor to the actual radio in her hands. No power cell. No plug. She did a double check to make sure— still nothing attaching the device to a socket.

"What did you do?" Sable said, striding across the room and leaning over the radio. She concentrated for a few seconds, eyes wandering over the tiny machine. This hadn't been on the ship before. It must have been part of the jackal's cargo. She had a few choice words about the total idiocy of bringing a shortwave radio into space, but she could save them for another time. For now...

Ah. She understood the situation.

"It is simple," she said, tone precise and sharp as a diamond scalpel. "Your little radio machine must have picked up the background electromagnetism that is common in space."

She folded her arms, straightened her back, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, taking on the posture of a particularly arrogant professor. Fitting, considering that was the role she was presently fulfilling. To her, however, it was merely a teaching moment -- and on some less conscious level, an opportunity to exert her obvious superiority of knowledge over the other woman.

"We are orbiting a star. Solar activity is a common catalyst for electromagnetic waves, which will spread outward from the source, even through radiation shielding. It was then conducted by your machine's antenna and converted into sound, as radios do."

That didn't explain the voices, but already Sable was beginning to convince herself there hadn't been any voices to begin with. Just an overactive imagination picking out order where there was only chaos.

"Beside the point, this is not the time to play with toys," Sable continued, reaching out to snatch the radio from Blair's hands. "You have just arrived, it would be best for you to grow comfortable with the mechanical parts of this ship. You are the mechanic, yes?"

Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

The radio was moved away from grabbing hands, Blair’s own body turning amidst a two-step backpedal. She angled the back of the machine to face the doctor and pointed to the empty port near the back left corner.

“This is the power input. Where you plug in the cable to actually turn it on. See how it’s absent? That means that the radio isn’t on, sweetheart, and that means no sound.” The pilot responded, utilizing Dr. Aronowitz’s own condescending tone against her as a shake of the head was given in tandem with the explanation.

“Second off, I don’t believe electromagnetic waves from the sun are strong enough to be picked up by radios on a noticeable scale— let alone transmit voices. Unless the fucking sun is speaking to us, I don’t think we’re picking up any background radiation.”

Blair let out an exasperated sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and secretly hoping that Sable would magically disappear when she opened her eyes.

Nope. Still there.

“Don’t talk to me about how to run my job, Sable. Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours— and random voices on a powered-off radio seems a bit important at the moment.”

Blair sat the radio back down onto the table and momentarily took a hand off of it to search around for a power cable, absently twisting the frequency knob to bait out any more noise from the machine.

Sable's hands pressed hard to her hips, nails clenching tight. There was no way she was going to be treated this way. Not for the rest of their fuc- freaking voyage. The pills evened her mind, staying her tongue from lashing out, but even in that tranquil clarity she sought to give this weasel a scathing reminder of who was superior.

"Physics is my job, mami,," she shot back, voice deceptively calm. "If you paid attention in science class instead of tinkering with radios, you would know that a strong enough electromagnetic field is capable of channeling power through coils and antennae, something you will notice your little machine there has."

The slight curve of a smug grin, and narrowed, hawkish eyes. Intellect always prevailed over the uncultured hordes.

"A star of this magnitude, at our proximity of orbit, is more than capable of generating such levels during moments of peak activity. Moreso, such organic a waveform would most likely manifest as garbled, varied static."

She remembered listening to such frequencies back in university, when she was studying for her degree. It sounded little like voices, of course, but she wasn't excusing the possibility, especially when such a possibility gave her an upper edge. Besides, she knew she was listening to a star before. This time, her mind was cued - aha. Her mind was cued to hear voices, and so she heard them.

"There is a psychological effect known as parydola," Sable continued. She hoped that's what it was called. Psychology was far from her forte, and even that she could remember something close to its name was commendable. "It is a phenomena in which you pick out familiarity amidst chaos. That is a suitable explanation for any voices you may have heard. All a figment of your sizable imagination."

Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

Blair couldn't help but laugh at that one, her sullied demeanor lighting up as a smile spread across her face. She chuckled at the doc's vague attempt at an insult, the laughter disarming whatever harmful intent Sable possessed when calling her the name.

"I'd like to think I have an active imagination, thank you. Keeps me from ending up like you." She said, getting up from her chair and moving to one of the refrigeration units in the cafe. Radio tucked under one hand, the aviatrix scrounged through the container before procuring a bottle of Jack Daniels, closing her eyes for a moment in relief.

So there IS a way to get through this fuckin' trip alive.

"Look, if that really was true, why aren't all the other damn instruments aboard the ship freaking the fuck out right now?" Blair replied, twisting open the cap upon the bottle of alcohol and taking a swig from it. The alcohol burned down her throat, but she welcomed it. Soon enough, Sober Blair wouldn't have to worry about Sable any more, and Drunk Blair would get some amusement from whatever would happen. Win-win, really.

"Go look at plants or something. I'm gonna do this."

The pilot walked over to the tables and began repacking her tools, ultimately taking her shop elsewhere if Sable wasn't going to leave. Easiest way to deal with the problem, she suspected, would be to just walk away.

Condemnable hound. Detestable jackal, fire-haired, alcoholic she-devil. Sable almost wanted to speak out about the drink, almost, but found herself stilling her tongue. She would find herself downing a cup soon enough, what with her present company, and possibly popping a couple pills with it to boot. Some part of her mind reveled in the hypocrisy, spinning lengthy confirmations about woman from decidedly Irish heritage and exuberant consumption of liquor. This too came nowhere close to slipping from her lips. Delight in hypocrisy, true, but she wasn't racist in any sense, even to disgusting, whiskey-guzzling Irishwomen such as Blair.

"Perhaps," she replied slowly, still trying to keep a semblance of calm. She was calm, deep down, floating and peaceful. This conflict was an issue for the surface. "Perhaps equipment on a station designed to orbit a star has better precautions against solar activity than... than your middle school science fair project."

Maybe she wouldn't drink the liquor. The jackal had touched her lips to it, and she had no way of knowing how many men had been in her mouth. She did not even know if she practiced oral hygiene. No, it would be better to down isopropyl and risk blindness than risk the ghosts of bedrooms past.

"I am merely saying it is better to determine more probable scenarios than to imminently devolve into low class superstition."

Deciding to ignore the plant comment (and anything that Blair said after, in retort or in dismissal), Sable turned on heel, threw up her hand with curt nonchalance, and strode purposefully out of the room. As soon as she was out from the fiend's eyesight, her stride turned to stomps, half-muttered insults slipping out of her lips. There was possible way a human could be so detestable, yet somehow Blair seemed to fit the perfect mold of 'everything that pissed her off.' Seething, the doctor entered the computer bay, silently loathing how automatic doors made it impossible to slam them. She would take it out on the keyboard instead. Thumping down into the remarkably uncomfortable chair, she pulled up a terminal and began to type.

Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

When Blair looked up from packing her tools, the doctor was already gone.

Thank the FUCKIN' Lord, baby.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Blair closed her toolcase and kept the radio tucked into her arm, the pilot took another swig of the bottle before smiling contently to herself and walking out into the hallway. Turning a corner, the redhead intended to go as far away from Sable as possible, eventually passing by an entryway into a random room and heading in. If there was a table, she'd be good. By the time she actually began to set her tools and equipment down, Blair had already gone through a little under a quarter of the bottle.

"Middle-school fuckin' science project. Shut up." She mumbled to herself, beginning the process of unpacking the tools and working on the back of the radio.